It could be very fresh and clean. - Philip Glass / Robert Wilson, Einstein On The Beach
As a writer who does not write (much) it could be argued signing up for a platform built for writing is a fool’s errand. As I watch Twitter sink into the sea I, like many of you, have downloaded an archive to serve as a ship’s log of the last decade or so of my waking hours.
I will suffice it to say looking back on my online behavior has been unkind to me. Starting from this moment, I will be perfect from now on.
As a god-level procrastinator I am an expert at last minute hashings-together of fragments and imitations to present as poems in workshops. Why can’t I bring this spirit of longer-than-a-tweet, shorter-than-an-essay slapdashery to a new digital platform? Didn’t I just pledge perfection?
It’s going to be OK. I have ideas, I have things I can talk about that aren’t going to fit elsewhere. Maybe I’ll just share selected photos and say things about them. There may even be actual writing where effort meets artistry.
Thank you if you’re reading this far. And I mean, since 2011 when I made Twitter the broadcasting platform of my sad little thoughts. It truly means a lot that people have paid attention to me even when I feel I mostly took advantage of it without rewarding anyone’s time or faith in me. But like any procrastinating slacker with no plan, I’m running a long, long, con.
I procrastinated for over 45 seconds before subscribing.